


Restlessness

by TheThirteenthHour



Series: Memorable: A Collection of Short Zelink Works [3]
Category: The Legend of Zelda & Related Fandoms, The Legend of Zelda: Breath of the Wild
Genre: Comfort, F/M, Gen, Loyalty, Sharing a Bed, Soulmates, Tenderness, Vulnerability, implied by the triforce, tagged / and & because you can read it either way, they really need rest, they're exhausted after beating ganon and journeying on horseback for half a day
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 00:47:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,099
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20498108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheThirteenthHour/pseuds/TheThirteenthHour
Summary: After one hundred years apart and an arduous journey without her, there is nothing Link's soul wants more than to stay by Zelda's side.And to rest. They both need a lot of rest.





	Restlessness

**Author's Note:**

> You don't have to read it to enjoy this (though I recommend it~), but this is a direct continuation of my one-shot [A Hero's Respite](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20143303).

Zelda snatches him from a sea of restless sleep when she asks to see Impa. His heart races, so suddenly brought back to reality. The Master Sword still sits in the grass. Hyrule Castle looms over her, only stone and rubble and moss, its cloak of Malice now ripped to shreds. No whir of Guardians. No telltale blue markings, blue eyes, blue sights.

How poor, for a knight of his supposed caliber to doze off on the shoulder of the one he has sworn to protect.

He takes his Sword, as though the act of arming himself could make up for his mistake.

Zelda watches him with pity and apology, and he dreads the possibility that she will always look at him like this. “She is in Kakariko, yes?”

She could ask to go to the peaks of Mount Lanayru or beyond the eastern sea and he wouldn't deny her. But there's a part of him that questions his devotion to her, despite the Sword in his hand and the ache in his soul. It's the part that lives in the gaps in his memories, dark and wary, wavering in her presence like a sea of silent princesses shuddering in the breeze.

“There are some things I picked up while watching over you…” she admits, gaze directed at the grass. “The details escape me. Um, would you mind if I…?” She gestures for the Sheikah slate, and he hands it to her without pause.

She navigates his slate—_her_ slate like it never left her hands, flipping between the map and her century-old images and all the paths he’s taken, like she's trying to awaken a memory of her own. “Do you think we can make it there by nightfall?” she asks dubiously.

Not on foot, and certainly not in their condition. The slate and the Ta’loh Naeg Shrine would get him there in a matter of minutes—but they won’t do the same for Zelda. Just as the shrines only open for the Sword’s chosen, so too do they only accept his arrival.

Himself and Zelda, the other Champions, they all fled for safety and battle on foot one hundred years ago. He wonders how different things would be if their ancestors weren’t so picky. How much time and how many lives would they have saved? He wouldn’t have fallen before Zelda, caught in a blue gaze, a red target, wounds and failure locking him out of one final act to protect her.

He squeezes the hilt of the Master Sword, and lets the memory wash over him before he sheathes it.

He puts his fingers to his lips and whistles.

His horse appears like a blight, swathed in a glow of blue ribbons and dressed in ancient gear. Blue eyes high on her head replace her own and trail down her neck. He named her Epona, though she looks nothing like she should— In his soul, he knows she has brown hair, a white tail and hooves and mane. But this Epona looks like Zelda’s horse, white as clouds with a tail the color of straw.

Zelda approaches her like an old friend. “Epona, yes?” she asks him, stroking what's exposed of her face and neck.

He nods, and wonders if she also recognizes that Epona’s appearance is wrong.

Zelda’s eyes shine with curiosity as she observes Epona, hands flitting over the bridle and saddle—the way they would over shrines and deactivated Guardians.

But she doesn't talk as she should. She would think out loud, making hypotheses, drawing conclusions, fitting together every piece of the puzzle that she could, without disregarding the parts she hadn't figured out yet.

She keeps her thoughts to herself.

He aches with the possibility that the destruction of Hyrule—the shortcomings of her power and her research, all her devotion gone to ruins—has silenced her.

He offers her Epona for the journey to Kakariko, but she refuses, insisting he needs the rest more than she does—every bit as stubborn as she used to be. He sees the guilt flicker across her gaze.

With the slate still in her hands, he manages to track down and bring back a steed before she can stop him, one with brown hair that seems to glow orange in the sun. Zelda can’t deny the smile she gives him, reluctant though it may be, and thankfully climbs onto Epona and leads the way with only a quip. “I don’t believe you were always so stubborn.”

He wouldn’t know.

He keeps his bow and arrow at the ready as they continue on their journey, though the worst they see is a group of bokoblin in the distance. The only thing he shoots is a heron for lunch.

“We’re not too far from the Wetland Stable,” Zelda says as he slings the bird over his horse’s flank and climbs back on. Zelda watches him over her shoulder with an expression both hopeful and ashamed—

She has looked at him like this before.

“We should stop for a meal. You’ve… become quite the cook, haven’t you?”

He smiles proudly, but it brings little joy to her face.

She is quiet until the stable is in sight, when she slows to his side and asks, “Would they recognize me?”

He shakes his head. Even if they do, they only deny their suspicions and recount their stories, unaware of the guilt they fester with their words.

For all he tries to deflect attention away from her, he is unable to prevent her from experiencing that firsthand. It pains him to see the way she listens to an old man tell her of Hyrule’s guardian princess, hands folded before her and posture brittlely tall—

This was how she held herself among the gossip mongers.

This is how she holds herself when she feels like a fraud.

Link draws her away with food eventually, but he doesn’t have the ingredients to make an acceptable, sufficiently distracting lunch. Heron, rice, and herbs aren’t fit to be her first meal in a century. But she smiles over it all the same, mind undoubtedly lost to the old man’s words.

He doesn’t know how to fix it.

She says nothing until well after they’ve left the stable, so softly he almost misses her question. “Does it bother you not to tell them who you are? Or when they don’t believe you?”

She doesn’t look at him, knowing his answer, but he nods anyway.

It is midnight when they finally arrive in Kakariko, heralded by the soft sound of wooden wind chimes and the glow of fireflies. He sees Cado and Dorian guarding Impa’s home and takes point in case they question Zelda, but it isn’t needed.

Their welcoming smiles for him give way to awe as soon as they see her, recognizing her from legend. He wonders if they’re old enough to have seen her personally, for they drop to their knees with a whispered, “Princess,” in unison—a reverence Link had only ever seen paid to King Rhoam.

He looks to Zelda, and wonders how much worse this is than the old man from the stable.

He offers to help her down from Epona, but her attention is solely on the men knelt before her. She stands with her hands folded. “Please. There is no need for that…”

They don’t stand. “Lady Impa wished to see you, as soon as she could,” says Cado.

“Thank you for your protection, Princess,” says Dorian.

“Of course,” she whispers, resigned.

They leave their horses with the guards and slowly climb the stairs to Impa’s home. Fatigue weighs him down. He knows more weighs on Zelda. But she keeps her thoughts to herself. Even when he waits for her before the doors, she only offers him a placating smile.

So he frowns.

“What?” she asks, seeming genuinely surprised.

He glances at the guards as they tend to their horses.

“It’s fine, Link.”

He furrows his brow.

“_I’m_ fine,” she says, stubbornly—like every time she asked him to disobey orders and leave her side. He wonders if he felt the ache in his soul whenever she tried to dismiss him, if the only reason he stayed was his duty. “I would imagine returning from one hundred years of sealing away an evil power, plus a half day’s journey on horseback, would leave anyone exhausted.” Her expression turns bashfully self-aware and she glances away. “Surely I’m not the only one in need of proper rest…”

He bites down the urge to yawn and opens the doors.

The distress in Impa’s expression reminds him of when he first arrived here, blank-minded and armed only with instinct, driven by the abyss in his thoughts. But her gaze passes over him.

She extends her arms to Zelda and says in a quiet, exhausted voice, “It has been such a long time.”

Zelda gives her a watery smile. “It has.”

The two of them talk as Paya tends to him, stuttering when she asks if they’d like anything to eat, if they’ll need an extra change of clothes, if she should prepare a sleeping area down here for one of them while the other takes her room. He thanks her and shakes his head. He plans to stay at the inn tonight, but he doesn’t make to depart until Impa sends Zelda to bed.

It’s the look in Zelda’s eyes that tugs him away from the door. Something lonesome and afraid, a reflection of the sudden ache in his heart that refuses to be separated from her after so long apart.

The back of his hand itches.

She folds her hands before her. “Were you—”

He shakes his head before she can finish.

“Oh, you’re-you’re staying then?” Paya asks, already moving to return upstairs and gather blankets and cushions for him.

“That’s alright, Paya,” Zelda says. She smiles softly, looking more peaceful than he’s seen all day. “We can take care of it. You’ve already done enough offering your room to me tonight…”

Paya ducks her head. “It’s not a problem… The, um, the spare sheets and cushions are in the closet. And I left you both a change of clothes on my bed.”

“Thank you.” Zelda glances at him and asks, “May I… speak with you, for a moment?” before going upstairs.

He follows as naturally as breathing.

Paya’s room is as he remembers, comfortingly so. The only difference is that her diary is missing from her desk, instead in her possession downstairs. True to her word, there are two identical sets of plain clothes laid out on the bed, a simple shirt and loose pants to sleep in. He claims his while Zelda sifts through the closet, too slowly to be anything but lost in her thoughts as she does so.

She voices them this time, facing away from him, hidden in a shroud of flickering shadows and candlelight. “I… Thank you, for escorting me here. You didn’t have to…”

He frowns. He knows where this is going.

“I… I’m sorry, if you don’t want to stay, you certainly don’t have to. I didn’t mean to stop you, I just…”

His hand itches again.

He sets the clothes back on the bed and clears his throat for her attention.

He waits for her to look at him before he bows his head and genuflects—just as he did in King Rhoam’s presence.

Just as he will for Hyrule’s queen.

“Link,” she whispers, so gentle and incredulous it makes him ache. “You realize you’re following orders from a fallen king…”

He shakes his head. He doesn’t look up.

Wood clinks and thuds softly outside the window.

“You wish to stay with me, then?”

He bows his head further.

She makes a sound, a puff of breath that could be mistaken for shame, for an apology, for relief and joy. “You would accompany a princess who sits on a throne of ruin?”

He sighs quietly, and wonders how they’re meant to work through a century of trauma. He swallows and sets aside all the gaps in his memories. This, he says from the deepest parts of his soul; no amount of amnesia could make him question it: “I would accompany you anywhere.”

He only looks up when she sniffs. She holds a hand to him, teary eyed and smiling. Her voice wavers when she says, “Thank you…”

He takes her hand and stands, and pulls her into an embrace before he realizes what he’s doing. Surely, he’s breaking a code he doesn’t remember, but he wouldn’t care if he did.

She clutches the back of his Champion’s tunic, bare of sword and shield and bow, and breathes him in.

This is where he belongs. No matter when. No matter the lifetime. His place is always beside her, and the wariness in his heart finally eases.

She only pulls away when he yawns. She laughs softly, despite the way her eyes shine in the candlelight. “Sorry… We should sleep.” She glances behind him. “Um, you can have the bed, I’ll—”

He shakes his head, turns them around so she can’t block him, and goes to the closet.

“Link, you are not sleeping on the floor.”

He grins to himself. Technically, the only orders he follows are those of the king. That’s not a card she can play.

Judging by her pout, she’s aware of this, but she’s also determined not to let that stop her.

He smiles at her brightly and starts setting down cushions and thick blankets to sleep on.

“_Link_.”

He pauses to look at her over his shoulder— She gives him the same expression she wore every time she caught him following her, as he was ordered to.

But she says nothing else, so he turns back to his makeshift bed.

Her only argument is a deep, frustrated huff. It’s not a convincing argument.

He changes his clothes while she glowers at the wall, and he dives under his sheets to offer her some privacy while she changes. He falls asleep within seconds, comes to when she whispers, “Sleep well,” grunts back with all the consciousness he can muster, and falls asleep again.

The beginnings of a dream or a nightmare are roiling around his head when he wakes again, stirred by the bed creaking. Her sigh sounds so defeated that he faces her, squinting to try to make her out in the moonlight. He can’t see her very well, but he knows she’s staring at him.

“Did I wake you?” she whispers.

Most likely, but he doesn’t answer.

“Sorry,” she says anyway. “I haven’t… properly slept in such a long time, it’s… It’s strange… Um, but— You should— Get your rest. Sorry.”

He wonders if it’s possible for her to unlearn that word.

He stretches, exhausted, and immediately regrets it, because once his muscles relax, his body would prefer not to move. But his soul is restless. He stands despite the reluctant sound Zelda makes. The orange and blue light of the Sheikah slate gives its position away on Paya’s desk. He takes it, shows the album to her, and gestures to the empty space beside her. She welcomes him by moving the blankets over.

He sits with his legs under the covers, his back against the wall, and his arm pressed to hers, and he absently wonders if this is also unbecoming of a knight.

“I’d prefer it if you slept, you know…”

He stares at her, intent to beat her at her game of stubbornness, and grins when she relents with a sigh. In the moonlight and the blue glow of the slate, he sees her smile.

He shows her pictures of all the places he’s been. A shot of Lake Hylia. An aerial view of Zora’s Domain. A pair of silent princesses at a fairy fountain. The sunrise over Hateno Beach. The picture he asked Bolson to take of him in front of his newly completed house.

She leans in to peer at the sign in the picture. “This is actually _your_ home?”

He nods proudly and shows her the garden, the pond out back, the view of the beach, progress images of the interior.

She takes the slate to scroll through them at her own pace, and he feels warm when she says, “Link, it’s lovely… Could—” She looks at him shyly—a deliberately vulnerable moment she’s offered him few other times. “Would you mind taking me to see it in person one day?”

He smiles.

He shows her the rest of his pictures, the notes he took throughout his journey, and points out where these things happened on the map. The completion of Tarrey Town, the stone monuments in Zora’s domain, the blupees on Satori Mountain, the ancient flame that Robbie needed.

He continues even after she lays her head on his shoulder, and only stops when he gets no reaction to a picture of what Purah currently looks like.

He rests his head against hers and shuts his eyes. He wakes hours later when she stirs, both of them bathed in sunrise. She leans into him and tries to make herself more comfortable, but she pulls away frowning and rubbing her neck. His neck hurts too.

She’s smiling faintly when he meets her eyes, squinting in the morning light. “I didn’t mean to fall asleep…”

He shakes his head, unsure of what he’s trying to say; that it’s fine, that he doesn’t mind, that he wants her close again. He figures it’s the latter, mostly, because he shuts his eyes and leans toward her until his forehead meets her cheek.

He likes the feel of her fingers in his hair. Gentle and intimate in ways that feel lifetimes old.

“Maybe we should sleep properly?” she whispers.

He grunts.

She pulls away again, and he almost follows her to lay his head beside hers. Even hazy with sleep and longing for her warmth in a way he’s not sure he had one hundred years ago, he knows this is undoubtedly unbecoming of a knight. He struggles to decide whether or not he cares.

But Zelda makes the decision for him, peering at him shyly from under the blankets. “You’re welcome to stay if you’d like…”

He drops beside her like a log, blindly pulling the sheets over himself as Zelda giggles at him.

It’s some kind of revenge to curl up against her side and shove his face into her shoulder.

Better still when she brushes her fingers across his cheek. “Good night, Link,” she whispers.

He hums back, and dreams of silent princesses.

**Author's Note:**

> Finally they rest......
> 
> Zelda's got a lot of guilt to work through, we'll get there some day :')
> 
> This fic gave me a lot more trouble than I expected it to? Took five or six false starts before I decided to switch the POV from Zelda to Link, and then it got a lot easier to write. It also got longer than it was supposed to. It was originally just going to be the scene in Kakariko, but I really liked the moments they spent in the scenes prior, so I stuck with them.
> 
> * * *
> 
> Want to reblog or retweet? Find [the tumblr post](https://write-nonsense-by-the-ream.tumblr.com/post/187454453483/he-waits-for-her-to-look-at-him-before-he-bows-his/) and [the tweet here](https://twitter.com/thirteenthhr/status/1168689370695720960).
> 
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